


Metanoia

by shealwaysreads (onereader)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drarry Discord Writers Corner Drabble Challenge, M/M, soft and gentle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-27
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:46:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26678437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onereader/pseuds/shealwaysreads
Summary: Harry reflects on his life.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 26
Kudos: 89





	Metanoia

**Author's Note:**

> For the monthly Drarry Discord Drabble Challenge - prompt was ‘journey’ and the word limit was 325.

I never wanted this. Never planned for it, I mean. When I was a child, I never planned for anything; the mechanics of my life were so far beyond my control it never even occurred to me that I _could_.

I never chose what I wore, I never chose what I ate, I never chose what I learned. 

Until Hagrid. Until Hogwarts. Until shining, heavy golden coins, and _‘anything from the trolley, dear’_ , and _‘anything but Slytherin’’_. But even that—even magic—couldn’t cut the threads tangled around my steps.

You didn’t get to choose much for yourself either. You had anything you wanted, everything you wanted, but never _real_ choice. Not your friends, not your house, and not your loyalty. 

I wonder, sometimes, what might have happened if either of us had been given free rein over ourselves earlier, what we might have done, who we might have been. But then I think of the options we had, and how we could have possibly chosen differently. And how, if we had, we might not have ended up here, so I don’t think on it often. 

After the forest, after the end of it all, I went from drowning under the weight of a war to floating—unattached—in the days-weeks-months I had never planned for. Drifting felt no safer, no more solid than the drowning. 

You were one of the first real choices I made, after it all. The first step I took that wasn’t set by prophecy or pressure. You were the first thing I wanted selfishly, and took. 

You were the thread I followed—spider-silk fine, fragile—through the maze of learning how to daydream and hope for more than just survival. 

You are raspberry jam, not strawberry. I am two sugars, and milk, and biscuits. We are blue sheets, and the apple tree in the garden, and last-minute trips to sunshine or snow depending on the coin-toss. 

I never planned for this, until freedom meant you.


End file.
